


Water in the Desert

by mindthetarget



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Shower Sex, Smut, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4547889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindthetarget/pseuds/mindthetarget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky just wants to be grouchy for a few minutes while doing some routine arm maintenance, but Steve is making it...hard. Cue the accidental demolition of a bathtub/shower and a quickie!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water in the Desert

Steve is staring.

“You’re doing it again.”

And now Steve is grinning. It’s that little self-deprecating, not-quite-bashful, ‘what can I say?’ grin. The one that quirks the corner of his lips and seems destined to be accompanied by a slight shrug that never quite makes it to shoulders which, no matter how broad they are now, will always be slight and small in Bucky’s mind. Shoulders that he could have wrapped his arm around twice when he held Steve to his side.

“You’re doing it too,” Steve says.

“Doing what?” Bucky grumps right back.

He puts down the needle-nose pliers and picks up some kind of pointy dentist’s tool instead from the kit Stark left for him. Twisting his head awkwardly to look over his shoulder into the medicine cabinet mirror, he tries to get the point of the tool into the minuscule seam between parts of his arm. They were in the desert the day before, and Bucky feels certain half that desert is now caught in the workings of his arm. He has been working to clean it out for almost an hour. Steve wanted him to let Stark clean it out, but Bucky is having a phase of anxiety about anyone but him touching the metal limb.

Anyone but him or Steve.

“Let me,” Steve says, stepping into the bathroom. The bathroom really isn’t big enough for both of them. It’s ridiculously small considering the price of rent in this part of D.C., but Steve likes the neighborhood. Bucky has to pivot a little to make room for Steve by the sink, and he glowers at him for it. Steve holds out his hand patiently, though, and now his grin has turned from self-deprecating to a little bit mocking of Bucky’s animosity.

He hands over the tool.

“You were making the pouting face,” Steve finally answers his earlier question, while he’s got his face so close to Bucky’s arm, painstakingly scraping grains of sand from between the grooves.

“I don’t pout,” Bucky scoffs, lips a grim line.

Steve chuckles. “You do. You’re doing it right now.”

Bucky quickly wipes all expression from his face, or at least tries to.

“This isn’t working,” Steve notes. He looks at the kit resting in the sink and picks up something that resembles a wire pipe cleaner, and begins to try again. “Your pout looks good, Buck.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Yeah, he heard him. He can’t help the urge to grin suddenly, but he wants to be grouchy right now.

“Are you trying not to smile?” Steve laughs at him, glancing up at him in the reflection of the mirror over Bucky’s shoulder.

“No. Shut it, Rogers.”

“Give it up, Barnes.” Steve is grinning widely now while he keeps scrutinizing the arm and working away. He’s cleaned out much of the upper shoulder grooves now and is working toward the bicep. The pipe cleaner is far more effective. “You know you want to.”

Maybe it’s stress relief. Maybe it’s the warmth of Steve standing so close behind him. Or maybe it’s simply because he does want to. The reasons don’t really matter; what matters is that Bucky simply turns, quickly, and gets his arms around Steve so fast that the pipe cleaner goes flying across the bathroom and skitters across the hardwood floors beyond the door into the den. He has fingers in Steve’s hair, the metal arm curled around those ridiculously broad shoulders that are still so small and perfect in his muscle memory. The metal arm doesn’t feel, and he can pretend his Steve is both the precious boy from 1940s Brooklyn and the beautiful soldier of today at once.

He kisses Steve like he’s lunging into combat, like he’s trying to consume him in the melding of lips and tongue and teeth. Steve kisses him back, answers the call to passion with his own, and they are swiftly all hands and hot breath and friction that scalds the breath in Bucky’s lungs when he feels it from his groin to his heart, surer than any bullet.

He destroys Steve’s shirt because he can’t stop kissing him to get it off. Steve doesn’t quite ruin Bucky’s sweatpants, thanks to the wonders of elastic waistbands. Bucky tries to get a grip on Steve’s slacks, to open them up, but he has one hand still gripping Steve’s head to keep him from escaping their liplock and it’s not as easy as it should be to figure out the damn belt and button one-handed.

They are wrapped around each other like starving vines on trees, winding, pressing, pulling, grasping. Bucky forgets the constriction of the bathroom’s narrow space because his world is narrowed to the blonde in his arms, and the damned belt that won’t come undone, and Steve’s hand on his dick like a firebrand vice that rips a sharp, guttural sound from the depths of Bucky’s throat that he cannot control.

So when they tumble over the bathtub edge and into it, he isn’t prepared. They are tangled in the shower curtain and the curtain rod they tear down in their descent. He flings an arm out and hears the clang of metal-on-metal but he’s too busy gasping into Steve’s mouth as he lays over him half-suspended, eyes wide, because Steve is twisting and jerking that glorious hand, pulling at Bucky’s lust with a certainty that will never cease to leave him stunned every time this happens—back then, before, he could never have guessed that his Steve, little Steve with the artist’s hands that would now never be calloused thanks to super healing, could give a handjob to make a man faint. The metal-on-metal is his arm on the faucet fixtures, and there is immediately water cascading down onto them from the showerhead.

They ignore it. No water could slake their thirst now. Only each other, only this, only heat and tight and hard and fast, could possibly quench the need and the desire and the love from the roaring inferno it has become within these glorious moments.

Steve’s legs are still hooked at the knees over the tub from their fall (those damned pants still in place), his body curved in the cradle of the bathtub’s bottom, head propped against the opposite side. Bucky fell more fully in and even though he tried to maintain the awkward position if only to be able to keep kissing Steve, at this point he is sinking forward even while Steve is jerking him off, and before he knows it he’s kneeling in the tub, astride Steve’s torso, and that  _sound_ , the deep and groaning and gasping and helplessly masculine sound that Bucky can’t remember making with anyone but Steve, is coming from him endlessly now.

Steve’s other hand moves, grabs Bucky’s left buttock, and yanks him forward, and the sound Bucky makes pitches up sharply with stunned delight because now,  _now God yes_ , he’s in Steve’s _mouth_.

By the time it’s over, by the time Steve has drawn every ounce of strength from him just by the suction on his cock, Bucky can hardly breathe. He has been reduced to trembling, to wheezing, to helpless pleading and whimpers and moans. He is no super soldier.

He is Steve’s, he is molten, he is  _done_.

He kneels there in the bathtub, face pressed to the cool tile wall and eyes closed with a relief he had no idea he needed, while Steve wriggles his way out from under him to sit up beside him, back resting against the tub’s side and the wall. Water is sloshing around them and still pouring down on their heads, and Steve is smiling goofily, staring at him, when Bucky finally opens his eyes to see him.

“You’re doing it again,” Bucky says, and smiles back.

The desert sand washes away down the drain.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on [tumblr](http://mindthetarget.tumblr.com/post/125369557445/one-shot-water-in-the-desert).


End file.
